The other night the “Biggest Loser” made me cry. If you’re not familiar with this reality television show, overweight folks compete to see who can be the “Biggest Loser.” Not exactly a tear-jerker.

I was folding laundry, and one of the finalists teared up, explaining it had been such a journey losing 100 pounds, and she couldn’t believe she’d made it. I found myself nodding and, suddenly, sobbing, wiping my eyes with one of my son’s socks. Right about then, my husband and son ascended the stairs.

“What’s wrong?” my husband Jerry asked, trying to decide, I could tell, if he was the cause of the tears. But it wasn’t him.

After six years of studying for my master’s degree in English and creative writing at N.C. State, I am finally graduating in May. My tears were happy tears, tears of disbelief, accomplishment and relief. When I took my GREs six years ago, I did so with a haphazard attitude. If it was meant to be, it would happen. Five months later, I became pregnant with my son.

“Good thing you haven’t been in school that long,” a friend said shortly after I discovered I was pregnant. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, you’re not going back after the baby’s born, right?” she replied.

“You won’t have lost too much time or money.”

I realized that if I wanted this, I couldn’t leave it to chance; I was going to have to work for it. And I didn’t know then that my husband would get laid off and start a brand-new business or that I would take over the mortgage payment. I found myself one night, about seven months pregnant, rolling change on the living room rug so I could pay the cable bill.

After my son Tyler, now 5, was born, I had to cut back my work schedule.

I could barely afford part-time daycare; tuition went on a credit card.

Frequently, I was exhausted and in pain from a chronic back problem discovered after Tyler was born.

But as hard as it was to pay for school, attend classes and juggle work and parenthood, going to school was a luxury, an indulgence, and I knew it.

I didn’t want to quit. Instead, I prioritized. Parenting came first, work second because it paid the bills, and school third. So a B-minus in coursework was good enough. An A was great, but what I needed was course credit and my sanity, not a stellar GPA.

As I got further into my program, it got harder, and I got discouraged.

One semester, a literature class I was taking was a good 15-minute walk from my car, and I frequently slipped in a little late, flustered with trying to get a 2-year-old to daycare, fight traffic, find my spot and make the hike. One morning, the professor reprimanded me harshly in front of my peers. I stared down at my desk. I was 34 years old. A student with grown kids leaned over and with a kind smile, whispered, “It’s hard, isn’t it?” I nodded, not looking up. I was flooded with both embarrassment and anger, close to tears. This was too hard. It wasn’t worth it.

But my friends and family, once detractors, now rallied around me. My sister threatened bodily harm if I quit. My mother stayed with Tyler and ferried him when needed, a used car seat a permanent fixture in her car.

My mother-in-law, the front desk goddess at my husband’s auto repair shop, juggled a busy office while my son played in the waiting room. Countless times, Jerry took Tyler out of the house so I could pound out papers and, later, the hundred-plus pages my thesis required.

Like the woman on the “Biggest Loser,” my tears were for the journey and the realization that I had finally completed something that, really, I didn’t have to do. It would have been so much easier to quit. I am proud I did not.

The question I’ve been getting most recently is, “What are you going to do now that you have your degree?” My answer isn’t glamorous. I’m not going to get a raise or a new job. My thesis wasn’t a masterpiece. So I don’t know.

I did learn this: It’s OK to do something just for yourself, even if it’s considered a luxury. Even if it’s hard. Even if it’s expensive and it takes time away from your family. I learned the journey of self doesn’t — or shouldn’t — stop once you have kids. Or ever, really.

But Tyler hasn’t learned any of this. My tears confused him. “Are you sad, Mommy?” he asked. “No, T. These are happy tears,” I told him, smiling at his blurry image. The truth is, there’s a lot of glory in the hardship and struggle that are part of the most challenging journeys, chosen or not. I hope he cries happy tears himself one day.